Upon the Yule of this wavering Tide, esme, complaisant as she is, has returned briefly to lift the spirits of those who may be feeling low by posting certain and indeed specific words that most surely must fall into a letter embossed folder named ‘whifflery’ in the hope that when said readers leave they may be experiencing a mood one might describe as mabsoot. – nods, twirls in her rather fetching jimswinger, and adds a spot of palpebration at the end

Across the surface of your deliration strewed planet, some unusual customs are observed when celebrating the birth of greed swaddled in tinsel, which the rest of the universe (watching from a safe distance as ever) refer to as narrischkeit. Below, esme has recorded a smattering of them for your (very! thank you P&F) eyes.

On Ukrainian Christmas trees spiders and their webs are hankered for as there is a folk tale that tells of a poor family woke up on Christmas morning to find their once bare tree decorated with spider webs that shined silver and gold in the morning sun. – (presumably the flies that festooned them were wearing tinsel crowns an all)

During Christmas in Newfoundland people called Mummers dress up in crude disguises and go from house to house dancing and playing music while the hosts try to identify them (by the looks of the photograph of said ‘Mummers’ below (this season wearing the ‘leatherface’ collection by ‘House of Chainsaw Massacre’) they also traumatise children for life and cut off people’s heads to add to a collection they keep in the cellar)

In the principality of Catalonia, it has become customary to decorate the traditional nativity scene with an extra something, or rather someone. This extra character is known as El Caganer, also known as “the pooper.” The figures are typically ceramic and usually feature a shepherd with his pants down showing his bare arse as he poos all over your rug. This is true folks. Here’s a huge example in a shopping outlet –

“Rub the giant poo for good luck little Joey!”

In recent years more contemporary figures have begun to emerge mind you –

Another from Catalonia, and one also connected to poo. (I’m beginning to think they may have British connections) – The bizarre of caga tió or ‘defecating log’.

Locals in Catalonia create a character out of a log, drawing a face on it and give it a hat. Then they spend a fortnight ‘feeding’ it fruit, nuts and sweets. On Christmas Eve, the entire family beats the log with sticks and sings traditional songs until the log excretes all its treats. It’s hard to comprehend why this tradition hasn’t caught on elsewhere. (I say that, but actually know a good few males who are wont to beat their logs all year round, let alone at Christmas.)

During the Christmas of 2010, the Colombian government covered jungle trees with lights. When FARC guerrillas walked by, the trees lit up and banners asking them to lay down their arms became visible. 331 guerrillas re-entered society and the campaign won an award for strategic marketing excellence.- (A rare example of humans using their grey matter and fighting hate with fairy lights – esme is wearing a tutu made entirely of fairy-lights – (sorry, tis too blinding to see between the gaps Swarn and Prof Taboo – *falls about sparkling and cackling (no crackling- vegan Cloud))

(Technically the New Year this, but I’m taking liberties as ever.) Spain – As midnight nears on Nochevieja, or “old night,” the last day of the year, the entire country gathers in front of television screens or in town squares, clutching a small bowl of green grapes and wearing nothing but red underwear. They wait for the Clock to begin to strike and at every gong must pop a grape in their mouths. There is little time to chew and swallow, it is called ‘las doce uvas de la suerte’ (“the 12 lucky grapes”). (Not so lucky if you choke to death though eh? (Esme is considering holding a similar soiree but using bananas instead)) If you eat all 12 by the end of the final bell’s toll — and that doesn’t mean finishing with a half-chewed mouthful — then you will have good luck in el año nuevo (the new year).

All strange (and possibly true).

Onto the festivities:

There are mince pies and piping hot chestnuts on gold platters set upon the chayzee long in the parlour, and kisses will be doled out under the giant mistletoe in the hallway – one per face, no tongues – (bearded faces get a bum squeeze too – male/female/aliens alike) – hears much in the way of dissent from certain quarters – Hey, I don’t make the rules here folks.

Felicitations abound towards you and your beloveds from esme, who hopes you will join her in raising a glass (containing whichever liquid you may fancy – ale/spirits/wine/water/urine (come on, some of you are pretty freaky it really isn’t that unlikely) and display, as she does, excessive gelasins!

Xxxx

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51 thoughts on “Humans and Their Insects That Hum”

This is the most festive and wonderful post of the season, my dear! I am especially keen on the poo-related traditions and very much in favour of wearing nothing by red pants and eating grapes. The Christmas spirit must be making me soft as I feel a bit sorry for the beaten logs – most unfair! Why not make the logs a little nest and eat all the treats yourself? I rather fear I am over thinking this…
Thank you for my super Christmas card – it has pride of place on the mantle piece! Wishing you and the entire cloud the very loveliest and most brilliant of festive times ever. And a cheery bum squeeze to all your readers 🙂

Why thank you Lucy, you are too kind, and I’m pleased to hear you’ll be taking it upon yourself to give some logs a warm home whilst wearing red underwear, the thought brings tears to my eyes in fact – laughs a lot.

I’m exceedingly pleased you like your wee piece of the Cloud, bum squeezes on the house!

esme holding back from the many requests for good log-beating whilst pulling crackers upon the Cloud

Thank goodness for El Caganer; my sister will be so relieved (once again) in her al fresco methodology. I had heard that her majesty – or ‘Brenda’, as she’s known to some of us – egests directly into Tupperware. Are you in any position to confirm her prerogative so to do, and by what divine rights was such disposition granted? This appears rather at odds with James the 1st.’ statement to the effect: “The state of monarchy is the supremest thing upon earth, for kings [I assume queens too? – H] are not only God’s lieutenants upon earth and sit upon God’s throne, but even by God himself they are called gods.” What be it, Esme, Tupperware or throne?

Your sister will be thrilled no doubt with her getting a mention in connection with this post I’m sure Hariod!

I’m no expert on the excretions of Her Madge (not Madonna but ditto), but imagine that if caught as as short as the lady in Victoria’s video, some poor lackey would no doubt be on hand to catch her emissions as two others hoisted her skywards orft the floor. All behind some hastily erected velvet curtains, shower cubicle-style.

By the way, a lot of this stuff about Christmas is apocryphal. Take, for example, the naming of the baby. The facts are these: One of the wise men stepped on a rake in the stable, the handle smiting him on the head and so he called out in his distress, “Jesus Christ!” To which Mary responded, “That’s a nice name – we were going to call him Raymond.”

‘apocryphal’ – I’ve always liked that word, it instantly reminds me of Douglas Adams, as he used it in the opening chapter of THHGTTU, a chapter I knew by heart once upon a time from listening to the original radio show on an old cassette tape repeatedly when esme was a small child.

“In many of the more relaxed civilizations on the Outer Eastern Rim of the Galaxy, the Hitch-Hiker’s Guide has already supplanted the great Encyclopaedia Galactica as the standard repository of all knowledge and wisdom, for though it has many omissions and contains much that is apocryphal, or at least wildly inaccurate, it scores over the older, more pedestrian work in two important respects.

First, it is slightly cheaper; and secondly it has the words DON’T PANIC inscribed in large friendly letters on its cover.” – D.A

I can tell you that your Christmas greeting is quite a contrast to mine! But oh-so-delightful! I can attest to the Mummers in Newfoundland – we brought our grandchildren a book about them (complete with CD) when we visited last Fall. I think it’s a grand tradition! There may even be some Screech involved in the festivities (Newfoundland rum). . . so you know the aim is to have fun. 🙂
Glad tidings, Esme!

Great stuff, I love weird bits and bobs like this from around the world, or through history. It sounds like freaky fun, I’d certainly give it a go, I have dressed as a zombie abd walked the streets of a city a few times now and very convincing I am too!

esme walking slowly, groaning and moaning ‘braiiiiiins’ or rather ‘graaaaains’ upon the Cloud

Really? A standard SAE course-thread hex nut is entirely and absolutely inappropriate for a technologically advanced mechanical curiosity such as C-3-POO -0’s poop. Don’t you think? I mean, really? Come on. A resistor, a light emitting diode, or better yet a crapped-out servomotor (pun intended) far more suitable, one would have to reason. Yes?

Yes indeed but you must bear in mind that ‘Hex Nuts’ are magical nuts Peter, and you have to handle them gently, with care, or you’ll be screwed and like as not have to bolt it, if you catch my thread?

I’ve cancelled Christmas this year—mind you not New Year’s Eve since I have a barrel of eggnog with my name on it, and it would be an affront to the company that graciously donated the inebriating beverage not to, at the very least, bathe in it, while having the compunction, in between tremors, to take a few sips here and there). No, Christmas is off. Last night I dreamed of being kidnapped by FARC rebels. Not only is this a brilliant segue to your jocular post, it is totally true: a true Yuletide story. I pondered the meaning of this un-tinselly dream. Then, after the hemorrhaging stopped, I consulted Jung (not Jung himself, who happened to be visiting Catalonia at the time, but one of his books, the heavy one on the bottom shelf, next to my collection of entomological plates and vintage Sears catalogs). My conclusion was that the holiday season had so upset me that I was now spending the wee hours of the morning in a Columbian jungle with an unsavory cast of characters.

Although my Christmas is a charred turkey (an apt metaphor, which you may use from time to time, when for instance your Christmas tree is accidentally incinerated or your sugar cookies explode in the light), I wish you, Rosie, and your readers a happy holiday.

Quite understandable, I mean after all you’ve been through in your dreams, (and should a dream be real enough, esme reckons it should be deemed quite real, barring any lasting physical injuries (one hopes!) Esme herself once had a very intense and long lasting conversation with The Pink Panther in a dream and they have been life- long friends ever since), a long soak in a bath of alcohol nog is practically mandatory in order to fully recover, and you are a Wizard, so there’s a decadence involved that fits perfectly too. By which I mean . . . thank you, on behalf of Rosie, myself and the rabble in the cheap seats behind me. smiles and kisses his cheek (no funny business there’s still a bath to get through).

esme and Rosie collecting his good wishes and making two garlands with them to wear upon the Cloud

My conversations with The Pink Panther lasted through the Y2K crisis. Thankfully they abated. Nowadays I can go months without any gossamery input from cartoon characters or pop music chanteuses, the latter of which is regretful.

You are out of control funny, woman. The birth of greed swaddled in tinsel, indeed. Love: the spider web tree – in the minority here with my love of all creepy crawlies (save roaches). Love the log beating – yes, universal, that, the man thing – crazy Catalonian pinatas and fecal fascinations, all – and what is it with the Spaniards and bulls in the street and death by grapes (and i don’t mean wine)? As for mistletoe, well – why can’t I post an image you will love, I am certain? No way to do this here, and not for the first time do I feel thwarted – but glass raised to your high-in-the-sky-ness, wishing you and yours the very best of cheer and contentment in the fast-approaching New Year! ❤ (now to research how to send you said image …)

Oh my my my MY Esme! I so needed this hilarity after 2 straight weeks of nonstop Xmas prepping with my “Oh look! Shiny object!” elderly Mum and for 6-days/nights with my son then 3-days/nights with daughter & her husband along with Mum’s “near official” man (whatever that means exactly) and his constant pouring of potent margaritas for Friday & Saturday nights! They all departed yesterday. This morning I’m SURE I looked like a turtle on its back trying to get out of bed this morning!

I needed this respite of laughter Ma’am. Many thanks Love! (dons a half smirk for the timely Lady Upon the Dropping Clouds)

You are most welcome Professor, it sounds like you had a hell of a hectic hullabaloo so esme is more than happy to provide some merriment to raise the corners of your smirky mc smirk considerbly higher –laughs

esme providing emergency comedic relief to the (probably) deserving since 1602 (at least) upon the Cloud

Truly, ’tis a dark and fearful place, the (h)air hot like burning pitch, yet curiously dank. Distant howls are often heard echoing from within, and the odd tentacle has been spotted more than once – its slimy tip reaching for anyone brave enough to enter (or so Mr Pink says).

esme giving tours for two pounds fifty a go every other Sunday upon the Cloud

Adored this! I think the mummer tradition came from Ireland – it doesn’t happen much here any more however. At least not in leatherface! I posted my egg nog recipe- now there is a tradition to keep all merry and bright! Not vegan, however 😦